


To Erase a Name

by clgfanfic



Category: Quantum Leap, War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaps into a Vietnam veteran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Erase a Name

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Accelerator Accidents and later in Black Ops #1, Leap of the Worlds, and Green Floating Weirdness #23 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_One of the unfailing consistencies of quantum leaping is the initial surprise value each leap hits me with.  I never know where I'll end up, or what situation I'll be in.  Sometimes it's exciting, sometimes frightening, but it's never, never dull…_

 

Dr. Sam Beckett smiled as he watched the two men embrace, the fear and guilt they had nurtured for nearly twenty years falling away with their tears.  And he felt his own emotions, raw-edged after a week with the veterans, begin to heal.  A light drizzle began to fall and Sam hunched his shoulders against the approaching late-afternoon storm and glanced around, looking for Al.

The need to make contact with the project observer grew almost physically painful for the time-hopping scientist.  The assignment had been difficult, the intensity and emotions of the men nearly sweeping away Sam's hold on his own identity.  The satisfied smile he knew would be on Al's face would focus his world again.  But Al was standing near the long black monument, his attention fixed on a name inscribed on the smooth surface.  After a moment the observer's gaze flickered over the panels, expertly locating a second name not far away.

Sam frowned.  Al's familiarity with the memorial was obvious, but the scientist couldn't remember any conversations he'd had with Al about someone listed there.  For the umpteenth time the physicist regretted the memory gaps that accompanied his quantum leaping.  He studied Al's face, noting the tension drawn across the cheekbones, the muscles corded along his jaw-line.  A flash of anger seared through the scientist, quickly squelched.  The individuals who had died couldn't be blamed for what Al was feeling.  Still, it bothered Sam to see his friend in pain.  Who were they?  Who were the men behind the names?  How did they die?

"Al?"

          The older man didn't hear Sam, lost in memories too powerful to escape quickly or easily.

          Sam stepped closer, but stopped when Al raised a trembling hand to touch the smooth black surface.  His fingers slid into the monument's surface, reminding both men that the observer was insubstantial in this time and place.

"Al?" Sam prompted again.

His shoulders slumping, the project observer turned away from the raindrop-spotted ebony surface to watch the two veterans, now standing in quiet but earnest conversation.

"Why haven't I leaped?" Sam asked softly.

That broke through the man's contemplation and a frown marred Al's usually cheerful features as he pulled the hand-held control-link to Ziggy out of his pocket, punched several buttons, waited a moment, whacked the unit against his palm, and then punched several more buttons.

Al dipped his head, avoiding any further glances at the memorial.  "Ziggy doesn't know, Sam," was the reply, his voice raw with emotions only half-controlled.

The physicist stepped closer to his friend.  "Are you okay?"

Al's head came up with a start.  "Who?  Me?  Yeah, sure.  I'm fine."  He glanced furtively over his shoulder as if there were ghosts watching him who knew better.

"Who were they?" Sam asked, nodding toward the monument.

Al cleared his throat.  Normally, he could talk to Sam about anything, but this was different.  This was a part of his life no one could understand unless they had been there – and he was the only one left.  It was something he had put behind him years ago.  It didn't need to be exhumed now.

"Friends?" Sam prompted.  "Al?"

The observer was torn.  Sam had experienced a taste of Vietnam while leaping into his brother's unit in order to save Tom's life.  He understood something of the horror.  Al nodded and said, "They weren't friends, Sam.  They were more than friends – much, much more."

He turned and walked back to the engraved monument.  Reaching out, Al ran the tip of his finger just above a name.  "Lieutenant Donald Nasser was an Air Force pilot," he said, his voice just above a whisper.  "He wasn't a soldier, Sam, just a man who loved to fly.  He thought he was doing the right thing, joining the service, flying for his country.  But he never should've been sent to the 'Nam."  Stepping to the right, Al simply stared at a second name.  "And Lieutenant Lonnie Martin, an Army Green Beret.  Lonnie was the warrior… and something more."

He stepped away from the Wall, walking slowly along the monument, watching the reflection of the man whose body Sam was now occupying following him.  Part of his mind busied itself marveling at the beauty of the Star Bright Project, but another part was drowning in the memories and the guilt he had denied for too long.

Clearing his throat, Al continued.  "Lonnie and I were prisoners for eighteen months before Don was shot down.  Don was more… afraid.  He had a gentle soul, Sam.  He didn't believe men could treat each other like— Lonnie was different.  He was strong, kept us going.  He had such spirit, Sam…"  He trailed off, shaking his head.  "You would've liked him.  The three of us were together for twenty-one months, then—"  He stopped, turning abruptly away from the monument and stalking off.

Sam trotted after him.  "Al, what happened?"

"They died."

"I know, the Wall, but—"

Al stopped, pivoting sharply to face the physicist.  "I haven't allowed myself many regrets, Sam, but—"  His voice caught, bringing the comments to a halt.  He shook his head, unable to continue.

"What?"

"They kept me alive, Sam.  Lonnie helped me learn how to stay free in my mind.  I don't think I would've survived without him.  It's that simple.  We promised each other we would all come home – together.  That we would survive.  We'd get out, and we'd get out _together_.  We counted on each other.  But I couldn't keep that promise, Sam.  I— I couldn't be with Lonnie when he died.  I shouldn't have left him there, in that field, alone, but Don was screaming and I— I…"  He had to stop again, the lump in his throat trapping the rest of his words.  He ran a shaking hand roughly over his dark-brown hair.

Sam automatically reached for Al's shoulder, wanting to offer the observer her support, but his fingers closed on empty air.  "If I could change that, you know I would," he said, his voice soft and tight.

Al looked up and smiled sadly.  "I know, Sam, I know.  I thought I'd made peace with all this a long time ago, but this leap dug up a lot of memories.  I didn't want to break that promise, Sam.  I really didn't want to."

"What happened?" Sam asked, knowing his friend needed to talk about it.  "How did they die?"

"Don was hit first.  I was with him.  Lonnie saw us and turned back.  He wasn't supposed to come back, Sam.  I kept yelling at him to go, but the damned idiot came back.  The VC were lobbing grenades at us, shooting, and there he was, running right through the middle of it.  One of the men sent to rescue us tried to stop Lonnie.  They both got hit, but I couldn't leave Don to do anything; he was dying.  I don't know if that other soldier managed to get back to the chopper or not. I've always been too afraid to look for his name here.  He was a good man, too, Sam.  Too many good men died… too many.  And Lonnie died alone."

The familiar tug vibrated through Sam's body and he felt himself begin to leap.  But Al's last words echoed in his mind as he felt himself pulled away: "I just couldn't keep my promise to both of them, Sam.  I just couldn't…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**August 13, 1971**

 

The heat and the smell assaulted him in the same instant and Sam Beckett knew he was once again back in Vietnam.  He was running, although the thick foliage slapping across his face made it impossible to see to where, or why.

 _Oh boy_.

Trying to raise his hands to protect his already-slitted eyes added to his disorientation.  His hands were tied.  And his throat was burning.

A rope.

There was a rope tied around his neck, rubbing his skin raw as he struggled to keep up with the man in front of him… an American?

"Al?" he rasped out as panic began to build in his chest.  His gaze darted over the collage of greens, searching for the project observer.  He was already choking, unable to catch his breath, and there didn't appear to be an end in sight.

A burst of harsh words in a language that he couldn't understand ripped through the dense foliage and a rifle butt slammed into his midsection.  The pace didn't slow as the physicist nearly collapsed; only the martial arts training Sam couldn't remember taking kept him on his feet and moving.

The American in front of Sam turned his head slightly, a concerned scowl on his face.  It was Al.

 _Oh, God_ , Sam thought.  He was a prisoner of war along with Al.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"I'm sorry sir, but you can't go in there."

"What?" Al asked, glaring at the security officer standing outside the Waiting Room door.  The young man looked decidedly uncomfortable.  "Why?"

"I honestly don't know, sir.  A red-flagged message came down with a security code attached.  I looked up the code, sir.  It was for a lockdown of the Imaging Chamber and the Waiting Room, and a notice that you were to be denied access to both.  I'm sorry, sir."

"You already said that," Al growled, hoping he could bluff his way inside.  It didn't work.

          "Yes, sir."

Al huffed and spun on his heel.  "Just wait 'til I get my hands on that damned computer!" the observer stormed as he headed toward the main control room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

How long they ran Sam wasn't sure, but when they finally broke out of the jungle he was more than a little thankful.  A growing sense of claustrophobia had slowly begun building, and the scientist gratefully sucked in the somewhat thinner, if still humid air.  He could see six Vietnamese guards, although there might be more, and two other prisoners besides Al and himself.

It was impossible to see the men tied in front of Al, nor was Sam concentrating on trying very hard.  The guards motioned them off and the prisoners jogged along the raised bank of a rice paddy at a fast walk, their sandal-shod feet slipping occasionally in the wet mud and making their progress slower.

Sam's mind raced. He was in Vietnam with Al.  He was a prisoner with Al.

He was here to get Al out!  What else could it possibly be?

An excited thrill lifted his spirits.  That had to be it.  When he'd left the observer at the Wall, Al had been depressed and grieving.  He must be back in Vietnam to help change the events that had scarred his best friend's life so deeply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Al glowered darkly at one of Ziggy's terminal screens in what he thought must be some secretary's office.  "And how can I do my job if I don't know where he is, who he's leaped into, and what he's supposed to do?" he demanded.

The computer beeped, whirred, chittered, then ended on a sharp whistle.

"I want to know where Sam is, and whose body he's in – now, Ziggy!"

The computer beeped again, then whirred with irritation and clicked at Al.

"I'm supposed to _observe_ the project, remember?  You ungrateful piece of spare parts, how can I _observe_ if you won't center me on Sam's brainwaves and send me to him?" Al demanded, his arms rising and falling for emphasis.

An indignant beep cut off the barrage.

"What kind of interference?" Al asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

The screen went blank.

"Ziggy, get back here!"

The screen reappeared.

"What sort of interference?" Al asked a second time, his anger replaced by worry.

He watched the information come up on the screen.

"Me?" Al asked, surprised.  "You mean Sam's with _me_ in the past and that's causing the interference?"

There was an affirmative _click_.

The observer's eyes narrowed again.  "All right, then show me _how_ the presence of my brainwave pattern there can keep me from going to Sam," he ordered, his disbelief clear.

Ziggy complied.

"This better not be a scam," he threatened with a double jab of his unlit cigar.

The clicking beep sounded reassuring.

"Now," Al said, "who's in the Waiting Room?"

The screen promptly went blank again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The belief that he was there to help his best friend buoyed Sam's spirits and made the remainder of the grueling march bearable.  Near sundown the four prisoners were ushered into a small but heavily fortified compound just inside the thick jungle.

The guards (there were actually eight) prodded them through a foliage-camouflaged gate, then led them to one of several pits that had been dug into the ground.  One man raised the bamboo lid while a second motioned for them to enter.

With their hands still tied, and three-foot lengths of rope running between each man's neck, the maneuver was difficult, and they ended up in an unceremonious heap at the bottom of the hole.  The last to fall, Sam winced as he landed on top of the three other men.  The lid fell closed above them, leaving them in semi-darkness.

Without words, they quickly maneuvered to positions along one side of the small enclosure.  Although the pit was nine feet deep, their cell was no more than six by six feet – a pit dug into the ground, cool and damp.

Sam wanted to talk to Al, to ask where they were and what was going on, but the silence of the others stopped him.  He took the opportunity to finally study the men.  From his appearance, Sam guessed that Al had been a captive the longest of the three.  He was too thin and his complexion was a chalky yellow-gray.  Unconsciously, Sam edged closer to the man, wanting to help him somehow, but not knowing how.  The Caucasian on the other side of the future project observer didn't look much better, and the fading bruises decorating the man's face only added to Sam's fear.

The fourth man, who had been in the lead as they made their trek through the jungle, was darker-skinned.  _Hispanic, or, more likely, Native American_ , Sam decided.  He didn't know why, but he felt better knowing the man was there.  Maybe it was the confidence he exuded.  The most physically fit of the three, he was unusually calm as he sat, leaning against the dirt wall.

His uniform patches said he was a member of the Army's Special Forces.  And although there was no rank insignia showing, Sam was sure he was an officer.  He was also the only one of the four still wearing an American uniform; the rest of them were wearing loose black pants and shirts.

 _He must've been captured recently_ , Sam decided.

"Al?" Sam finally whispered when it seemed the others were sleeping.  Glancing around, he waited for the future version of the observer to appear and explain why he was there.  Seeing the two Al's side by side, now _that_ would be different.

"That was a stupid move today, Lonnie," the P.O.W. Al said in a hot whisper.  "Keep that up and you'll end up dead.  I know you're smarter than that.  What got into you?"

"I'm— I'm sorry," Sam responded, unsure about what else he could say.

"They know my unit's looking for us," the Special Forces man said quietly.  "That's why they moved us."

"You think they'll find us?" the other Caucasian asked, then abruptly shook his head and snarled, "Your men aren't going to find us."

"Come on, Don, show a little faith, huh?" Al encouraged, looking to Sam to back him up.

"Yeah, listen to the man," the scientist said, hoping that was what Al had wanted.  He couldn't stop himself from staring at the nearly black hollows under his friend's eyes, the effect heightened by the encroachment of nightfall.  Five years.  Al was repatriated after _five years_ as a prisoner of war.  The words echoed in Sam's mind like a tune he couldn't forget.

"I've _been_ listening, for five goddamn days.  And what's it got us?  They're running our asses off through the jungle, and now we're in the middle of a fortified camp.  They're going to kill us.  I can feel it.  We're going to end up dead.  Dead, man."

The Special Forces man stiffened.  "Look," he said, his voice low and determined, "whether or not you know it, my men _are_ out there, and this mission _will_ come off – when the time's right.  Did you get a good look at those other pits when we came in?"

"More POWs," Al said, nodding.  "They must be rounding prisoners up from all over this area."

The operator nodded.  "We hoped our sweeps might force them to collect the prisoners they had in this sector – easier to keep an eye on 'em, and defend against an attack, with them dug in here.  When the time's right, my men will get us out."

"Fancy talk, Ironhorse, but that's all it is.  I know.  I've been here twenty-one months.  There's no way out – no way but dying," Don sneered.

"We'll see," the man replied.

"If your team's so damn good, hot-shot, how the hell did you end up in here?" Don exploded although his voice remained pitched just above a whisper.

One thing was clear, Don was unstable, and Ironhorse drew away from the pilot at the same time as Al moved closer, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Don," Al said.

Ironhorse's black eyes narrowed dangerously as he replied, "You want to know why I'm in here?  We sprung ten guys over in Duc Huay.  One of my Specs took one in the back.  I wasn't fast enough to get to the chopper with him.  The VC that caught us didn't want to treat a wounded man."

The foursome fell silent.  Sam's mind raced.  Don, that had to be Don Nasser, one of the names on the Wall.  That would make him… Lonnie Martin?

 _Al, where are you?_ he implored the hologram.  _What am I supposed to be doing here?  Saving Lonnie?  Don?  You?  And who's this Ironhorse?_

Sam stared intently at the younger version of the man he knew, watching as Al calmed Don.  A cough shuddered through his future friend's too-thin frame, and Al's eyes squeezed shut.

"You okay?" Sam asked him.

Al nodded, glancing at Sam over his shoulder.  A spark still shone in his eyes, that part of his spirit that could never be caged.

Sam recognized that spirit as the source of impish mischief in the man that drove him crazy at times – but he had never wished it away, or even dulled.

What was Al doing back at the project headquarters?  Why hadn't he shown up yet?  Was he on his own?

No.  Al wouldn't do that to him, especially not now.  Not here.  He would come.  Maybe there was some trouble with Ziggy, or maybe—

The realization, when it came, was stunning.  From his first leap, and for each one after, he'd relied on Al to be there, to be his link with his own time.  _What if Al doesn't come?  What if I have to do this alone?  What if I guess wrong and someone dies?  What if—?_

 _No.  I can't worry about "what ifs."  I know I'm here to do… something._  He glanced heavenward.  _Please, Al, find a way to get here_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Al paced the carpeted hallway of the project's main administrative building.  In a closed meeting at the end of the hall, the Board members were trying to decide if this leap violated the parameters of the project.

He snorted out loud.  _Like they can stop it now, or turn back the clock themselves?_

The observer sighed.  He'd had enough.  Sam was out there, somewhere, _alone_ , and he wasn't going to stand for it any more.

Turning, he headed directly for the Waiting Room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"How long?" Sam whispered.

"What?" Al replied, his eyebrows pinching to touch over the bridge of his nose.

"How long have we been… like this?"

"Lonnie, are you all right?"

Sam nodded.  It was a stupid question, but he needed to know.  The guilt he had so carefully buried when Tom had been saved was resurfacing.  A woman had died, and Al, his best friend, the man who had gone to bat for him and the project more times than Sam could count, who was already a POW, had had his chance for a rescue stripped away.

 _But those events were already set_ , he argued with himself.  _Al was still a prisoner of war even in the timeline where Tom had died_.

 _But would it have been five years?_ Sam snapped at himself.  _Five years of this?_

Al shifted slightly and patted Sam on the leg.  "For me, 1,171 days, and for you, 1,151 days."

Sam heard himself suck in a breath.  That was two and a half years!  So this was what?  1971?

"Yeah, and tomorrow's my twenty-one month anniversary," Don added despondently.  "You're losin' it, Lonnie."

"I— I just couldn't remember, that's all," Sam hedged.

Ironhorse raised a hand, motioning them to silence.  Above, a guard walked to the edge of the pit and stared down at them through the bamboo bars.  He scowled, sure he had heard them talking, but they were silent now so yelling would have no effect.  With a threatening shake of the M-16 he held, the guard wandered off again.

"Like those ears," Al whispered with a grin.  "Can you hear trains coming through railroad tracks, too?"

Ironhorse's mouth tilted into a crooked smile.  "Of course; it's an old Indian trick."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

When or how he had fallen asleep, Sam was unsure, but it was Al who woke him.  The man was coughing softly, his body jerking spasmodically as he lay, curled up and pressed against the dirt wall across the cell.

Earlier, after several long minutes of working on the ropes, Ironhorse had managed to free them from their leashes.  It took less time to free their hands, but once both were accomplished they were able to rest more comfortably.

As he worked on the ropes, Sam was able to discover through short, soft whispers that Ironhorse was a West Point graduate, a Special Forces officer, a captain, and a Cherokee.  He also had absolute faith in his men, and Sam decided that he believed it when Ironhorse said they would be out of the camp by the end of the week.  He had to believe it.

But now it was Al who held Sam's full attention.  Scooting closer to the sleeping man, he watched a dream play itself out on the man's haggard face.  He hoped it was a pleasant respite from the nightmarish reality, but somehow he doubted it.  With an overwhelming wave of sorrow, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't imagine how someone could survive this kind of treatment for five years.

No one.  No one should have to endure like this.  It's wrong. We shouldn't do this to each other, for any reason.

He heard Al's breathing become more labored, and reached out to gently squeeze Al's arm.  A hot, almost stinging sensation shot up the physicist's forearm.  He had actually _touched_ Al for the first time in… how long?

Sam smiled and squeezed the too-thin arm a little harder.  "Shh," he said softly, "it's just a dream."  Al relaxed, the spastic movement ceasing.  Sam held on to the man's arm, basking in the reassurance of tactile companionship.

The sleeping man took a deep breath and opened his eyes.  "Sam?"

The physicist jumped at the sound of his name and looked frantically around the cell for the observer.  "Al?" he whispered softly.  "Where are you?"

"Right here," the prisoner replied, humor rising in his voice.  "Lonnie, what's got into you?"

"You— You called me Sam."

"I did?"  Al frowned, moving to sit up.  "I was dreaming about someone named Sam."

"Oh?  What's he like?" Sam asked, his curiosity getting the better of his good sense.

"I— I can't remember.  I was worried about him, though."  Al snorted and shook his head.  Sam patted his arm, winning an indulgent half-smile in reply.  "I miss cigars… and women," the future-observer lamented.

Sam chuckled.  "I'll bet you do."

He looked up as a light rain began to fall.  The bamboo bars above them offered no protection, and they were quickly wet.

Al coughed, his body shaking with a chill.

Sam scooted closer, holding Al's shoulder until he caught his breath.

"I'm okay," the prisoner wheezed.

"Sure you are.  Al, you're—"

"Lonnie, don't play doctor."

"But I—"

"I'll be fine."  The reassurance gave way to another round of coughing and Sam could hear the rattle in Al's chest.  There was fluid building up in the man's lungs, but there was little he could do about it, stuck there in a pit.  And the rain wasn't helping.  Al was cold despite the warm temperatures.

"Look, I'm not playing doctor.  You're sick.  Let me help."

Al locked gazes with him for a moment, and then he nodded.

The physicist smiled and helped Al move so he was leaning back against Sam's chest.  The physical contact provided enough warmth to stop the chills, and Sam went to work, rubbing his friend's shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that made it harder for him to breathe.  He felt Al slowly relax against him.

"Thanks, Lonnie.  You're all right… for an Army grunt."

"No problem," Sam said, his voice catching slightly.  "What are Army grunts for?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Al sat up in his bed, wiping the sweat from his face with a corner of the sheet. The dream was disturbingly real.  He was back in Vietnam, in the pits, only this time Sam was there with him.  But what frightened him the most was the possibility that it might not be a dream, that Sam might just be in that pit with him and the others.

And that was _not_ where the quantum physicist belonged!

 _Please, God_ , Al pleaded, make this just a dream.  _Sam isn't— He shouldn't have to live through that kind of hell…_

He flopped back down.  _You know Sam's done everything he's supposed to do.  So why do this to him?_

He regretted the words at the same time he knew he truly meant them.

If it's just a dream, then Lonnie and Don are still going to die…  They were still dead.  I don't want them to die, but Sam's not ready for that.

 _Maybe he is_ , Al argued with himself.  _He's landed in some bad situations before…  I'd trust Sam with my life._

_Damn!_

"I don't know what to want!" he growled at the ceiling.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ironhorse reached up to grab the bucket that the guard lowered into the pit on a rope.  Inside was a single bowl of water and four smaller bowls of steamed rice. The men quickly ate the rice in silence, knowing it would be their only meal of the day.  Then they passed the water around, sipping the tepid liquid to wash down the starchy meal.

The guards returned and hauled the bucket and bowls back out and the four men settled into an anxious silence.  Sam, sitting next to Al, drew the man into quiet conversation.  Several minutes later, Ironhorse silenced them with a raised fist.

Al leaned forward, waiting for the arrival of the guards, but no one came.

"What?" Don questioned in a hushed whisper.

Ironhorse cut him off with a slicing motion of his hand.

Al gave Sam a small shrug, then turned his attention back to the captain.  The man rose slowly to his feet, his head cocked slightly to the right.  He rotated in a full circle before a crooked smile lifted the corners of his lips.  Silently he stepped closer to the three waiting men and knelt down.

"Tomorrow.  At dawn," he whispered.  "Gentlemen, we're getting the hell out of here."

Sam and Al both grinned, but Don simply shook his head.  "Right, Chief."

Ironhorse's hand snaked out, grabbing the man's shirtfront.  "Believe it, Mister," he hissed.  "And be ready."

"Hey, easy," Al warned, slipping his shoulder between the two men.

Don pulled back, cowering against the earth wall, and Sam moved to see that he was all right.  It was slightly disconcerting to have Al so protective of Don, but he knew he couldn't begin to fathom the bonds the three men had developed over their time as prisoners of war.  He could only accept it and try to help.

"I'm sorry," Ironhorse said, directing his comment to Al, who nodded, a coughing fit halting any comment he might have made.

When Al was quiet again, Don whispered, "You won't leave me, will you?"  His expression was terrified, begging.

"We won't leave you," Sam assured before he even thought about it.

"You promised.  You swore an oath.  You can't leave me alone here."

Al reached out and gripped the man's shoulder tightly.  "We go together, just like we said.  We're all going home, Don.  _All_ of us."

"That's right," Ironhorse concurred.  "Every damned one of us."

Al shot the captain a grateful look.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Before dawn, Ironhorse's hand closed lightly on Sam's calf and the physicist started awake, thankful he didn't made any noise that might give them away.  The captain motioned to Al, and Sam nodded, reaching out to wake him while Ironhorse handled Don.

A few minutes later, the four men sat huddled in the darkness, waiting.  Then the soft call of some unknown bird broke through Sam's mounting panic.  This was it, the event he had been sent there to influence, but he still had no idea _what_ he was supposed to do.  All he could do was follow whatever lead Ironhorse set and hope he reacted correctly when the critical moment came.

Where was Al?  _What_ was he supposed to do?  _How_ was he supposed to do it? He couldn't quite relinquish the idea that he was there to ensure that Al reached the Captain's men.  And regardless of what Al might say, the future observer was weak and shaky. He wasn't up for any long treks through the jungle in order to escape.  Whatever Ironhorse and his people had planned, it had better include a quick exit.

Sam stared at his friend, watching Al tremble slightly.  That _had_ to be the reason he was there.  And, Sam decided, it wouldn't matter if he was supposed to do something else, because he couldn't.  Al had to get home.

The first explosion caused all four men to jump.  Before the reverberation had ceased, Ironhorse was on his feet, motioning the others up.  The camp was under attack.

More explosions followed the first, bursts of M-16 fire joining the cacophony that rang for what seemed forever.  There were several yells, then the creak of the bamboo bars above them being lifted.  Ironhorse backed up against the dirt wall of the pit in a crouch, ready to fight if he had to.  Then there was a black face grinning down at him.

"Mornin', Captain," the man said.  "Beautiful day, ain't it?"

A second face appeared over the corporal's shoulder, this one smiling as well as he tossed a rope into the hole.

"Time to go, Captain," the man said.

"Thank you, Sergeant Derriman, don't mind if I do," Ironhorse said as he scrambled up and accepted a weapon to cover the others' escape.

Don went next, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he left the other two men behind.

"You're next, Lonnie," Al said calmly before the coughing began again.

Sam stepped up, holding onto Al's shoulders to keep him on his feet until the fit passed.  "No, you go next," he said when the coughing stopped.  "I'll hold the rope to steady it for you."

Al smiled slightly.  "This isn't the time for your damned Army pride, Martin.  You know as well as I do that I'm too weak to climb that rope.  Now get out of here."

Sam knew he was right, but he hated admitting it.  Grabbing hold of the lifeline to freedom he said, "Then we pull you out, because we _all_ go home, remember?"

"Move!" Ironhorse called down, and Sam shimmied up without an answer from Al.

Once Sam was out Al quickly tied the end of the rope around his midsection and nodded to the rescuers and his cellmates to haul him out.

A few minutes later and they were out of the jungle.

"Captain!" Sergeant Derriman yelled.

Ironhorse spun, firing a burst from the M-16 as he did.  The pursuing man, charging for cover, fell.

Sam and Don ran on either side of Al, half-supporting, half-carrying the man between them.  In the distance several choppers dropped into the clearing created by the rice paddies and Sam could see other freed prisoners as they clambered on board the Hueys.

 

A monsoon-like hail of fire from across the paddies assaulted the choppers and they rotated, holding their hovers and buzzing like angry dragonflies while their door gunners opened up.  The black corporal who had helped free them fell, most of his neck torn away.

Derriman stopped, radio in one hand, and shook his head in frustration.  "No go, Captain!  Choppers can't hold that position long enough for us to get there!"

Ironhorse nodded.  "This way, people!" he yelled, leading them off into the thick cover of the jungle growing along the edges of the open paddies.

"But the choppers!" Sam yelled.

"Radio!" Ironhorse yelled, ignoring the remark.  Derriman slid in next to him, the handset ready.  "Alpha-Blue, this is Red Wolf, do you read?"

"Red Wolf, this is Alpha-Blue, we copy.  What's your location?"

"About a quarter klick off the LZ, vector-tango."

"We copy, vector-tango.  Can you make alternate?"

"Negative.  Repeat, negative.  These guys are too weak."

"Roger.  Pop a smoke and we'll come get you."

Derriman reached for a flare.  "Green," he said as he aimed it skyward.

"Alpha-Blue six, we are popping green, repeat, popping green."

Derriman fired and the flare lobbed into the sky, exploding.  One of the choppers swung out of its position and headed toward them, the door gunners maintaining a constant stream of cover-fire.

"Get ready, people!" Ironhorse yelled over the increasing noise.  Stepping in next to Al, he nodded to Sam and together they draped the already winded man's arms across their shoulders.  As soon as the chopper dipped, Ironhorse was moving.

"Let's go!" the captain yelled.

Sam could barely hear the sound of the chopper over the blood that pounded in his ears.  Derriman was in the lead, laying down covering fire.  Sam, Ironhorse, and Al struggled to keep up with the sergeant, and Don skittered along behind them.  Then a high-pitched whine broke through the drum-like cadence assaulting the physicist's head.

"Down!" Ironhorse yelled, dragging Al and Sam into the mud as a grenade exploded nearby.  A scream echoed in the fading blast.

The three rose to their hands and knees, Al turning first to find Don lying in the shallow paddy, a growing circle of red clouding the water around him.

"Don!" he yelled, crawling toward his fellow pilot.

"Al!" Sam cried, vainly reaching out to grab at the man's ankle, but the future observer was already too far away.  "Al!"

"Come on!" Ironhorse commanded, the harsh sound of his voice bringing Sam to his feet as the chopper edged closer to the men.

"Al!"

Al reached the downed pilot and, slipping his arm under the man's back, lifted him out of the muddy water as best he could.  Don's eyes opened, and fixed on the Navy pilot's.  "Don't leave me," he begged.  "God, please, don't leave me here."

"I won't," Al replied, trying to ascertain the extent of the man's injury.  When he did, he had to fight back the bile rising in his throat.  Don Nasser was dying.

Sam managed one step before Ironhorse grabbed him.  "Get in the chopper!  I'll get them!"

"He's—"

"Move, Mister!"  The tone left no room for disobedience, but the physicist could not force his legs to carry him away from Al.

The captain had nearly reached the pair when a second whine unlocked Sam's muscles and he threw himself into the mud for a second time.  After the explosion he scrambled up, ready to help Ironhorse carry the pair to the chopper, but the man was only just staggering to his feet, blood spreading down his pant leg.

Sam took in the scene like it was moving in slow motion.  He knew the artery in Ironhorse's leg was nicked.  The man would bleed to death if the scientist didn't act.  Sam's gaze flickered to Al.  _What do I do?_ he pleaded silently.

"Go!" Al yelled, the sound of his voice and his facial expression distorted and frightening.  "Lonnie!  _Go!_ "

The physicist found himself next to Ironhorse, supporting the captain as the chopper edged closer.  A voice screamed at them to hurry.

 _I have to go back!_ Sam ranted silently.  _But I can't let Ironhorse die…  Al, where are you?  What do I do?_

"Al!" he cried aloud.

"Get out of here!" Al yelled, still cradling Don's body.  "For God's sake, Lonnie, go!  For me!  _Go, damn you, go!_ "

Sam knew he might be making the exact mistake that had gotten Lonnie killed the first time, but he just couldn't leave Al there.  "Go!" he told Ironhorse.

The captain turned back toward the chopper, the movement causing him to cry out.

Sam looked back.  There was no way he could make it out on his own.  He wanted to scream at the frustration that choked him.  If he tried to help Al, Ironhorse might die, but if he helped Ironhorse, Al would be left behind.  He _couldn't_ leave Al here, he—

"Lonnie, move, damn you!" Al screamed at him, his voice was accusing.

"We have to go!" Ironhorse yelled.  "Now!"

The truth flashed through Sam's mind – hot and blinding.  Lonnie went back. Lonnie died.  Maybe Ironhorse died, too.  That was why he was here!  He had to save Lonnie and the Captain. But Al—

"Lonnie, for God's sake, _please!_   Get out of here!"

Wrapping his arm around Ironhorse's waist Sam ground his teeth together and began running toward the waiting Huey.  He watched the bullets striking the water in the paddy, breaking the surface like the fish in Goodson Lake where he and Tom and his father had gone fishing when he was a kid.

Ironhorse groaned at the pace, but he helped Sam as best he could.

The chopper loomed closer.  Derriman was there, yelling, urging them on.

Ten steps… nine… eight…

Sam stumbled, slipping in the mud, but he caught himself before they both fell into the dirty water.  A raw cry tore free of the captain's throat.

Seven… six… five…

"Come on!  Come on!" Sam heard Derriman shouting over the sound of the rotors.

Four… three… two…

Hands!

Derriman reached out and dragged Ironhorse into the chopper, Sam helping to lift him from the ground.  He pivoted, determined to return to Al, but other hands were already dragging him inside as well.

"No!  Al!  I have to get Al!"

"Martin, it's too late!" Ironhorse yelled, holding fast to the struggling physicist even while the medic began treating his wound.

"I have to get Al!  _Please!_ "  The Huey began to rise.  "We can't leave him here!"

Derriman was yelling at the pilot, and Sam stopped fighting when he realized that they were actually moving closer to Al and Don.  The gunners concentrated their weapons along the edges of the foliage, trying to stop the hail of bullets that made the maneuver so dangerous.

Then one of the gunners screamed, and Sam watched a rescued POWs drag the man's bloody body out of the way and take up his position.  For the first time the scientist realized that he was endangering the lives of men just like Al, but he couldn't help it.  He _couldn't_ leave his friend behind.

"It's a no!  It's a no!" one of the prisoners screamed, his voice shrill with fear and desperation.

Sam looked down at Al only to find him waving the chopper off.  " _Al!_ " he screamed, but it was futile.  He lunged for the door.

Ironhorse caught him and, sucking in a breath, he gave Sam a hard shake.  "Martin!  He can't leave Nasser!  _Don't_ make him watch you die, too!"

Sam froze in the captain's hands, Al's words at the Vietnam Memorial coming back to him in a rush: "I– I couldn't be with Lonnie when he died.  I shouldn't have left him there, in that field, alone, but Don was screaming and I— I…"

Sam's gaze locked on Al's for a moment before the chopper swung away.  " _No!_ " he cried.

Ironhorse's fingers closed tightly on his shoulders.  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a choked, harsh whisper.  "I'm sorry."

Tears slid over Sam's cheeks as the tug began, and although he struggled to remain, the next leap pulled him away…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The heat was gone, along with the overpowering smell of Vietnam, but the sun was still bright, almost blinding.  Sam squinted against the glare as he looked around, trying to determine where he was.  His mind was still reeling from Al's abandonment, and the physicist wanted nothing more than to escape the growing crowd to grieve and think.

"Man, I thought I wasn't going to make it though the crowd," a voice said from behind him.

Sam felt his knees go weak.  The man's hand squeezed his shoulder in greeting.  He turned.  It was Ironhorse.

"Hey, you all right?" the Cherokee added.

Sam nodded.  Where was he?  His gaze darting nervously around.  He was able to identify the location – an airport – although where it was remained a mystery.  The gathering crowd was Caucasian, so they weren't in Southeast Asia anymore.

"Martin, you sure you're all right?" Ironhorse asked again.

Sam found himself staring.  The captain was in a dress uniform, his ribbons and rank proudly displayed, but the uniform was drawing angry glances from some of the men and women gathered along the runway.  He nodded.

"It shouldn't be much longer now," Ironhorse commented.  "I'll just be glad to get this over with.  Security's been having a heck of a time keeping in the protesters back.  You think they'd welcome these guys home with a little sympathy and respect."  The last came out as more of an afterthought, barely audible and edged with anger and guilt.

The arrival of a taxiing plane stilled the questions Sam had, and he watched with the rest of the crowd as a large 727 rolled to a stop nearby.  A stewardess in a too-short skirt opened the door while two men on the ground pushed a set of stairs up to the plane door and locked them into place.  After a few moments the first passengers began to exit.  The first was a man dressed in a military uniform, and although he was thin and pale, he was clearly happy to be there.

Some in the crowd cheered, others rumbled uncomfortably, and in the background a few boos and hisses could be heard.

With an expression on his face that Sam couldn't fathom, Ironhorse watched intently as each man exited.  "There," he said finally.

The physicist turned to look.  His eyes rounded.  "Al?"

"Come on," Ironhorse said.  "I wore this uniform for a reason."

The captain moved forward, striding through the crowd, and the people fell back to let the Special Forces officer pass.  Sam didn't stop to wonder at the reason, nor could he see the burning spark in the man's eyes.  The only thing that held his attention was Al, who was making his way slowly down the steps, gripping the handrails for support.

They all reached the tarmac at the bottom of the stairs at the same time.  The future project observer looked up, seeing the pair for the first time.

A huge smile filled his sunken cheeks, and crinkles hid the dark circles, like stains, beneath his eyes – the same indomitable spark still shown brightly in Al's eyes.

Sam blinked the tears from his own eyes, his throat tightening.  "Al?" he whispered.

"Lonnie," the man replied, his voice cracking.  "God, it's good to see you."

Sam stepped forward, enfolding his best friend in a tight embrace.  The arms that wrapped around him returned his hug with more strength than Sam would have thought possible, and only the sound of the next passenger – who was stuck behind them – clearing his throat, moved them apart.

"You're home, Al.  You're really home," Sam whispered, keeping his hand on the man's arm to reinforce that fact.

The repatriated pilot stepped back, the grin now fixed on his face.  Ironhorse was wearing a similar expression.  "Captain," Al said, extending his hand, "it's damned good to see you, too."  The soldier took it in a firm grasp.  "And thank you," he said softly.

Ironhorse gave his head a sharp shake, his expression turning grim.  "Don't thank me, Lieutenant.  I was supposed to get you out of there."

Al frowned, seeing the guilt the man had been carrying for so long.  Looking at Sam, he found a similar expression on Lonnie's face.

Before Al could say anything, Ironhorse scanned the crowd that was closing in around them and said, "Look, come with me."

The threesome entered the small hall that had been set up earlier to process in the returning prisoners of war.  Before long it would begin to fill, but for now they were alone.

"Now, look, both of you," Al said before either man could speak.  "I know you're both thinking that you let me down out there in that paddy, but you're _wrong_.  It would've been suicide to come back for me.  You damned fools almost got yourselves killed as it was."

"My mission—" Ironhorse began, but he was immediately cut off.

"Your mission, Captain, was to rescue prisoners of war, not die playing hero.  And you _did_ rescue them; seventeen men were pulled out that day."

Ironhorse nodded once.  "But one died… and one was left behind."

"Yes.  And I'd call that a damned miracle.  I made the call, Captain.  There was nothing more you could've done.  I couldn't leave him there.  I just couldn't.  And I meant what I said.  Thank you.  You're a damned fine soldier… even if you _are_ Army."

Ironhorse stared at the man for a moment, gauging the truth and sincerity in Al's eyes and then accepted it.  His own healing had finally begun.  There would be no more nightmares about a Navy pilot, sitting in a rice paddy, yelling for Paul not to leave him behind.

"Al, we tried—" Sam started, but again the repatriated American stopped the conversation before it began.

"Lonnie, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Sam asked, his voice catching.

"I know it was hard, but I just couldn't leave Don.  He was dying, and I couldn't leave him there to die alone."

"Damn you, Al.  You made me break a promise," Sam said, his voice breaking again softly.

The future observer grinned.  "I prefer to think of it as bending a promise a little."

"You would," Sam whispered, feeling the tears slip over and run down his cheeks.  He made no move to wipe them away, unashamed at what they stood for.

Al cleared his throat and continued, his own voice low and thick.  "I wouldn't have made it if you'd died, too.  Remembering you two getting out of there kept me going, because I knew if I made it home, you'd be here… and here you are."  He looked away, clearing his throat.  "But I was really hoping it would be with a cigar and Beth in tow.  Where—?"

Panic flared and Sam cut him off, grabbing him in a bear hug for the second time, more briefly, but with the same heartfelt intensity.  There would be time enough later to break that bit of bad news to the man.  Hadn't he suffered enough?

"I just wish I could go home," Sam whispered softly as they stepped apart.  "I miss you, Al."

"Welcome home, sir," Ironhorse said, giving the ex-prisoner of war a sharp salute.

Al smiled, the haunted expression lifting off his face, and returned the gesture.

"Now, if you'll follow me, I'll see to it you're processed through here A-S-A-P and on the way to a comfortable BOQ room before the crowd catches up with us.  Lieutenant Martin has already anticipated some of your more… specific needs."

"So that's where you stashed her, huh, Lonnie?  You're a sneaky SOB, you know that?  Well, lead the way!  I have a hell of a lot of catching up to do!" Al said with a sweeping wave of his arm.  "Lonnie, you coming?"

"In a minute," said a familiar voice.

"In a minute," Sam echoed before he could stop himself.

Al grinned, winked, then walked away with Ironhorse.

Sam swung around to find Al, his Al, watching the disappearing back of his younger self.  There were tears shining in the observer's eyes.

"Al?"

The man's gaze flickered back to Sam.  "Thank you, Sam, so very much.  You don't know what this means, but it's a bunch.  I owe you one – a helluva big one."

The physicist stepped closer to the hologram.  "Al, I wanted to go back for you, but—"

"No, Sam, don't dwell on it.  It wasn't supposed to be that way.  You saved Lonnie from dying out there in those fields.  And you saved Colonel Ironhorse from losing his leg, and his career, and that, eventually, ended his life."

"Colonel Ironhorse?"

"I'll explain later."  Al swung a friendly punch that passed through the time traveler's shoulder.  "I'm proud of you, Sam."

"Of me?  Why?"

"What happened out there…  It wasn't easy.  I know.  You did a good job."

"It was only three days.  How did you do it for—?"

"For five years?"

Sam nodded.

"He was telling you the truth."  Al nodded in the direction the pair had taken earlier.  "You see, when Lonnie and Don died that day, and I didn't know about Ironhorse one way or another, well, I _made_ myself believe Lonnie got out with Ironhorse that day.  But when I got home, there was no one here to meet me.  No Don, no Lonnie, no Ironhorse… no Beth.  I couldn't pretend any more."  Al looked away, shifting uncomfortably.

"And?"

"I, uh, spent eighteen long months in a VA hospital, trying to get my head together."  He waved the cigar and gave the physicist a wry grin.  "Almost didn't make it.  That time nearly cost me my spot in the space program.  It put my mental stability into question."  A broader smile spread across the man's face.  "But I don't think that'll happen now."

Clamping the ever-present cigar between his teeth, Al dragged out the link to Ziggy and punched several buttons.  "Lonnie was the first best-friend I let myself have.  You were the second, by the way.  The two of you are like brothers to me, Sam."

"But I left you there.  The Captain—"

"Exactly!"

"Huh?"

Al flashed his friend a smile that made Sam look away, embarrassed.  " _You_ couldn't take the chance of leaving Ironhorse out there to die.  You did what _you_ had to do!  _You_ saved his life.  Lonnie never looked back on his way back to me."

"But—"

"Lonnie never could have done what you did, Sam.  And because of that, he died.  Don't you see?  God, or chance, or whatever, knew you couldn't leave Ironhorse out there, so you had to save Lonnie, too."

"When I froze, that's where Lonnie was hit by that grenade?"

Al nodded.

"And if Ironhorse was trying to stop Lonnie, then he was closer to the blast."

Al nodded again.

Sam took a step closer to the hologram.  "I'm glad, Al, I really am, but I'd still change what happened to you if I could.  You deserved better."

"Down deep inside, you knew what you were there to do, Sam, and you did it."

The physicist looked down at Al's hands – they were trembling slightly – and he felt the blush that colored his cheeks.  Sam wanted to meet Lonnie, and he silently vowed that one day he would.

"Did you see him?  Lonnie?  In the Waiting Room?" he asked the man.

Al nodded.  "Ziggy kept me locked out until you finally leaped here, but then it was. . ."  He trailed off, shaking his head and giving the physicist a sheepish shrug.  There were no words for what he'd felt, talking to Lonnie after so many years thinking he had died.

"What happens to Lonnie?" Sam asked softly, walking over to look at the man's reflection in the glass wall that separated the hall from the main floor area.  Lonnie Martin was black.

The observer glanced down at the control unit, his eyes growing wider.  "Well, I'll be…  He stays in the Army… gets promoted to full Colonel… and ends up connected to a top secret operation called…"  He rapped the unit against his palm, drawing a whine from the device.  "…the Blackwood Project.  Ziggy can't get anything more than that— Oh!  He gets married, has two kids… Donald and Albert… Albert?"

"Albert?" Sam echoed, grinning.

The observer looked up, his expression serious.  "I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

"What about Ironhorse?" Sam asked.  "He's an amazing soldier, Al."

"I won't argue with you on that one.  But I'm afraid that's classified, Sam."

"Classified?"

The observer tried to look as innocent as possible.

"Come on, Al, what could possibly—?"

"I really can't, Sam.  It's all need to know, and you don't – need to know, that is."

"That sounds like something Ironhorse would say," Sam grumbled.

Al smiled and wagged his eyebrows.  "It is."

Sam shook his head, smiled, then pulled back a punch and let it fly at the man's shoulder.  Al ducked.

"Ah, Al, I wish I was there."

"Where?"

"Back in our time."

"Oh?"

"I could really use a hug."

Al grinned, his eyes shining to match the physicist's.  "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Then, without hesitation, the older man stepped forward, merging with Sam in the same space.

Sam felt the first tingles that signaled he was about to leap and, for a brief moment, he felt the warmth of his friend's arms locked around his shoulders.

And then, he was gone…

The End


End file.
